


Silver Dollar

by Krampus



Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: Animal Death, Blood, Bloodletting, Eventual Romance, M/M, Slow Burn, Vague Internalized Homophobia, rated for later chapters, zombie!Oswald
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-01-30
Updated: 2016-07-09
Packaged: 2018-05-17 04:29:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 11,816
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5854270
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Krampus/pseuds/Krampus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>In my best suit and my tie</i><br/><i>With a shiny silver dollar on either eye</i><br/><i>I hear the chauffeur coming to my door</i><br/><i>Says there's room for maybe just one more</i> </p><p>AU in which Oswald doesn't survive the harbor. Ed moonlights playing mad scientist and brings him back.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Silver Dollar

**Author's Note:**

> Here it is, the Oingo Boingo-inspired zombie fic absolutely nobody asked for! It'll do me good to finally write a slow burn. 
> 
> Find my fics on tumblr @ peterhumboldt.tumblr.com!

The black waters of Gotham’s harbor churned below, crashing against the concrete in unforgiving waves. 

_Please for God’s sake have mercy_

Oswald could barely register his own voice over the blood pounding in his ears. How he managed to form words at all when his leg felt like it had been shattered and his nose was dripping blood was nothing short of a miracle. 

_Don't ever come back to Gotham_

Only the chilling embrace of the harbor alerted him that he was still alive. Whether the cop had been merciful or just a terrible shot he didn't care to know. All that mattered was that he was alive. And he had to swim. 

Immediately, mechanically, he began flailing his limbs through the darkness. The cold air burned his lungs when he broke the surface, but he almost had to laugh. He would live. _He would live._

There had to be land nearby. All he had to do was swim. Keep swimming, keep breathing. He couldn't tell if he was moving forward or just treading water as he desperately tried to move his arms, his leg weighing him down with each bolt of pain that shot from his ankle all the way to his hip. 

Darkness formed a hazy vignette around his vision. There was land up ahead, he was sure of it, had to be, just a little further…

 _Just a little further_

\---

Dusk was just settling over the city skyline like a chiffon wrap when Ed pulled up to the shore. Evening walks were part of his routine, always scheduled right before he settled down to attend to his personal pursuits. Every night after work he came here to clear his head, to walk off the frustrations of the day. Sometimes to throw stones at the water and pretend he was pitching them at Bullock. 

He wore a smile that evening as he peered out over the water. Something big was coming, he was sure of it. All the sleepless nights he’d spent tinkering in the lab were about to pay off. The formula was damn near perfect. All he had to do was find a proper test subject. Several times he’d nearly nicked one from the morgue at work, but always lost his nerve before he could gather the courage to open the drawer. _Perhaps tonight_ , he mused.

Serendipity smiled upon him as he walked along the shore. Only minutes from his car, a frail, black figure lie ahead of him. 

\---

Ed truly believed his purposes to be noble, which made justifying sneaking into the lab every night for the past several months to himself very easy. His home equipment had been sufficient for the early stages of research, for experiments on mice and other little critters captured around his apartment building. Once the first round of tests had been successful, he knew he needed something bigger. He had built a reputation as a night owl at GCPD long enough to not look suspicious when he came out of the lab bleary-eyed and tired from a long night of work. Not that any of his peers cared to notice him anyway. His presence only seemed to be acknowledged when they needed something. Thus, it was without a single prying eye that he was able to carry the body in slung over his shoulder, carefully swaddled in a tarp, in through the back of GCPD and into the lab. 

The hard part came with purging the water from his test subject’s lungs and stomach. With a bit of convincing and creative positioning he was able to get most of it regurgitated into a bucket, along with a shocking amount of debris that had made its way into his system. Whatever disgusting junk had been floating in the harbor, the man sure had swallowed a lot of it. 

“So sorry, sir, but you'll thank me later,” he babbled as he finally stretched the corpse out on the autopsy table. “Comfy?” No answer. 

As he prepared his tray of tools and washed his hands, Ed couldn't help but steal glances over his shoulder at the body laid out on the table. The man was soaking wet when he found him but very fresh. In fact, he figured that the man had died on the shore rather than in the water itself. Perhaps even crawled a few feet on land before succumbing. An hour or two dead at most. To stumble upon him before anyone else did was a lucky coincidence. 

He was handsome. No, not handsome. Unique. He had a peculiar look about him, with his bird-like features and small stature, like a fledgling raven. Peeling back one greying eyelid revealed light blue eyes, making Ed wonder if his black hair had come from a bottle. He gripped the man’s jaw and turned his head from side to side, studying his profile. Another stroke of luck; rigor mortis hadn't yet set in. 

First things first. Taking a pair of shears from the tray, he began snipping away at the man’s clothes, starting at his ankle and working his way up. The material fell away to reveal a sleeve of dark purple bruises reaching from ankle to knee, radiating from what appeared to be a broken bone. 

“Pity,” Ed said to his guest as he continued to slice away at his clothing. “Such a pretty skeletal structure. It would have been a treat to see how it healed.” Grinning, he chuckled and glanced at the flask on the tray. “Perhaps we will.”

Piece by piece it all came off, tossed into a trash bin with a wet thud. Once the man was stripped bare and dressed with a napkin for modesty’s sake, Ed turned back to the tray and began preparing a syringe. He prefered the old fashioned sort that could be sterilized and used again. The all-metal design just looked and felt better in his hand, and reminded him of the old medical procedure reels he’d checked out from the library and watched on his father’s projector in his youth. He recalled how thrilling it was to see each tool in action, how each little piece played a part in a greater action that could make or break a life. 

Finally, it was time. He popped the rubber stopper out of the flask with his thumb and dipped the needle in, then drew back the plunger while wearing a gleeful grin. This was to be the maiden voyage of his work on a human subject, all those long nights and cycles of trial and error finally culminating in what he hoped would be a marvelous triumph of science. 

“Now, my little friend, this shouldn't hurt a bit,” he murmured as he raised the needle. The corpse stayed silent. “Deep breath!” Biting his lip to ground himself, he jammed the needle into the man’s chest and brought his thumb down on the plunger. 

Seconds passed, then minutes. All the while he kept his eyes fixed on the subject’s face. Not even a muscle spasm. Ed sighed and straightened. Oh, well. One couldn't be too disappointed, he reminded himself. To try and fail was the way of experimentation. Perhaps with a few more trials on smaller subjects, or some tweaks to the formula. Crossing to the counter, he turned his back on the man and made a note--” _First human trial unsuccessful._ ”

He began cleaning up, more miffed at the prospect of having to drive back to the harbor to dispose of the body than his failed trial. The little man was heavier than he looked and making that trip twice was not something he cared to do. Perhaps he could just throw him in the trunk and give the poor thing a proper burial in the morning. 

He’d just begun to consider what he’d be ordering in for dinner when a ghoulish gasp rang out behind him.


	2. Bits and Pieces

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _No hesitation_   
>  _No heart of gold_   
>  _Just flesh and blood_   
> 

“Sir, sir, _please_ \--!” Ed pleaded as he desperately struggled to keep a hand clamped over the newly reanimated man’s mouth. “Please be quiet!”

 _Reanimation is sudden and violent. Proceed with caution in further experiments._

Ed couldn't tell if the man was in pain or simply bewildered by suddenly having his earthly tether yanked back from the other side, but regardless of how he was feeling he was most certainly _loud_. He’d been alternating between gasps and howls, thrashing against the surface of the slab as his eyes rolled in their sockets, entirely unable to focus. Thankfully, he was still too weak to do much more than flop about, but Ed made a mental note to introduce a precautionary restraint in his next trial. Weak though he was, the little bastard was persistent, and didn't show any signs of slowing. Ed could only continue struggling for so long himself. 

It dawned on him, as cold, damp flesh just beginning to blossom with new warmth fought against him, perhaps his own tactics for fighting sensory overload might be of assistance. Taking a deep breath, he threw his arms around the smaller man’s shoulders and squeezed as tight as he could. In his own experience, an application of pressure to the body could be rather soothing. Just as expected, gasps turned to panting and the howls diminished to a soft, worried whimper. 

“There,” Ed said, catching his breath as he loosened his grip just enough to let the man take a deep breath. “Now, mister...sir, I'm sure you have plenty of questions. Buuut I'm happy to tell you, you're alive!” He beamed at his own chipperness in the face of what many might consider an abomination. 

Oswald was not so cheerful. Though he was no longer thrashing on the slab, his eyes still shifted aimlessly, crossing and drifting without ever once focusing. Furrowing his brow, Ed raised a finger and waved it in front of his test subject’s face, passing from eye to eye. Not even a glance. Great. 

“Subject appears to be at least temporarily blind,” he murmured to no one, filing it away in his mental notebook. “Further inquiry to be performed.” 

A dry, choked sob crawled from the drowned man’s throat. His fingers scrabbled at the front of Ed’s sweater, grasping at the soft wool. Ed regretted not throwing on a lab uniform. Oh, well. Hindsight was 20/20. 

“Oh, cheer up. You're lucky I found you so fresh.” Cautiously, Ed let his arms fall away and stepped back from the slab, only for the test subject to grope pathetically for the lost warmth. “Needy little thing.” He snatched his notebook from the counter and hoisted himself onto the slab, laying an arm around the smaller man’s narrow shoulders. 

_Subject appears frightened and childlike following reanimation._

Oswald curled up against his side, shivering and grasping at his wrists, his sweater, any tactile sensation he felt might ground him. He found particular comfort in the silk touch of Ed’s tie. The texture stirred something comforting in him, though he hadn't the wits to express it. 

_Subject responds positively to tactile stimulation._

“I'll be honest, I didn't quite expect to get this far. I expected a muscle spasm at best.” Whether or not the man could understand him, Ed couldn't tell, but he was happy to talk to somebody who was willing to listen for once. He figured it was for the best that his only confidant in his research ran no risk of spilling his secrets. “You certainly can't stay here while we observe your progress. I suppose we’ll have to dress you.” 

In no way would this guy would pass for a cop, so nicking a uniform was out of the question. There was, however, one other place in GCPD a new set of digs could be acquired. 

\---

‘ _Evidence goes missing all the time,_ ’ Ed told himself as he pulled a blood stained t-shirt over his test subject’s head. ‘ _It'll be written off as a clerical error_.’ Oswald was absolutely swimming in the outfit pinched from the evidence locker--a bloodstained t-shirt and slacks, held up with a belt that may or may not have been a murder weapon--but was grateful to have his naked flesh clothed. 

Having been unable to find a jacket to warm him with, Ed pulled off his own sweater and helped Oswald’s arms through the sleeves that stretched past his fingertips. 

“That should cover the blood well enough to get you to the car. If anyone asks, you were here to identify a body and you're just, just _wracked_ with grief. Don't try to speak.” Ed said this more to himself than the man trembling before him. “Come on, take my hand. We’ll get you warmed up and something to eat.”

\---

 _Subject appears to be distressed by vehicles._

Oswald had uttered a particularly pathetic whimper when he heard Ed pop the hatch to toss the tarp and Oswald’s ruined suit in the trunk, and even tried to hobble away when Ed glanced his way before slamming it shut. 

“Oh, no, no, friend! It's not safe that way. Heeere we go. You can lie down in the back.” Ed continued to soothe the man as he steered him back toward the car. He was still wet and had some kind of odor sticking to him. Oh, well. The upholstery needed to be replaced anyway. As Oswald reluctantly clambered into the back, Ed noted that the cardigan was probably ruined as well. A minor inconvenience suffered for the good of something far greater. It was the least he could do after destroying the man’s fancy wardrobe, after all. Perhaps he could tailor--

 _God_ , what was he thinking? He had a walking corpse stinking up his back seat and there he was thinking about playing dress-up with it. What kind of sicko had he become?

With each block they passed, Ed’s thoughts raced faster. The adrenaline of success was quickly trickling down the drain, spiraling down into a sudden realization of the consequences before him. He had to house this thing, clothe it, feed it. What would it eat? Thoughts of harvesting human flesh to quench the thirst of his beastly creation flashed through his head, but the rational bits and pieces left in his brain beat them back. That was horror movie stuff. 

That would be simply ridiculous.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the long wait for a short chapter. I decided to chop what I had written in half to make it flow better.


	3. Damage Control

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Pretend there ain't nobody home_   
>  _Don't make a sound, don't even move_   
>  _Don't give them nothing to see_   
>  _I think they're looking for me_   
> 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hoo boy this story got fluffy faster than I anticipated. Don't worry, it's gonna get fucked up again soon.

The stairs leading up to his apartment were an obstacle Ed hadn't considered on the drive over. Of all the days for the elevator to be out of order, this had to be it. With Oswald’s limited movement and what he prayed was temporary vision loss, he practically had to drag the man up each step, one at a time. He practiced his excuses in case they encountered any neighbors under his breath as they lurched onward, Oswald’s arm clinging to him through every step-drag-pull up to the apartment. 

_So sorry sir he’s just drunk he's sick he's fine he's a friend ok good night_

The flickering lights in the staircase would at least, he hoped, disguise the slightly greyish tinge that stuck to the reanimated man’s skin. Oswald's lips and fingertips were a ghastly shade of blue, his eyes darkened around the rim. Anyone who got a close look at him could at least gather that he was _seriously_ unwell, if not outright dead. Then again, the people of Gotham tended to avoid eye contact as a rule. If he could dredge up a body from the harbor and sneak it in and out of GCPD without any trouble, making it upstairs should have been cake. Yet he still had his teeth clenched, dreading what he feared to be the inevitable discovery of his little experiment. 

Nobody could know. Fleeting thoughts of what he might have to do if someone were to find out flashed through his head. What could he do? Pay them off? Beg them to keep quiet?

Kill them?

He had accepted long ago that in the event of a botched reanimation, the subject would have to be put down. It was something he hoped he never had to do, but he’d made peace with the idea. A stash of sedatives and a helium tank were hidden at the back of his closet, gathering dust until the grim day when they were needed. Dumping the body would have been easy enough. Gotham was bursting at the seams with Does that nobody cared to investigate. 

Killing a fully functioning stranger wouldn't be quite so tidy, however. He was in the business of dealing with death’s aftermath, not inflicting it. Frankly, he doubted he could even bring himself to do it if it came down to it, but the consequences of what could happen should he be found out gave him reason enough to consider it. He was already breaking laws that didn't even exist yet, and would probably have a few named after him once word of his freakish experiments reached the courts. 

_’Don't think about it,’_ he warned himself. _’Just don't think about it.’_

\--

Sweat dripped from Ed’s brow as they finally stumbled into the loft, frizzing his hair into the corkscrew curls he so diligently tried to keep combed straight. His lungs felt fit to burst. Despite all of this, the relief he felt as he slid the door shut was indescribable. They'd made it up without a hitch, and now he could lay the fear of having to chop a neighbor into itty bitty pieces to rest. For now. 

Throwing off his coat and jacket, he gently placed his hands on Oswald’s shoulders and shuffled him toward the bed. The first few steps came with some whimpers of protest, but after some coaxing he got the man seated. 

“Let's get you into some clean clothes, hmm? Something warmer?” He told himself that he could burn the pinched evidence later, and promptly pushed it to the back of his mind. Getting to work, he grabbed the hem of the sweater and pulled, only to be met with a sob and Oswald’s fingers clamped around his wrists. It was like changing a child that hadn't yet had their nap. 

“Oh, stop! I'll get you another one. It'll only be a moment.” Reluctantly, with a little encouragement from some having his hair stroked, Oswald released the sweater and allowed himself to be undressed. He shuddered when the t-shirt was pulled away, but didn't protest. It wasn't until Ed helped him out of his shoes that he cried out again. 

_Subject still registers pain following reanimation_

“You poor thing!” Ed cooed, lifting Oswald’s pant leg to once again examine his bruised ankle. He couldn't be certain if it was broken or just badly sprained, but it definitely needed treatment. A makeshift splint would have to do until he could get in contact with one of Gotham’s unsavory underground medical professionals. He’d found, in his eavesdropping around the GCPD, that veterinarians seemed to be the most morally flexible and the best at keeping secrets. Another mental note was made to look through the phone book for one. 

The pants came off last. No underwear were to be had in the evidence locker, so Ed had to avert his gaze while he eased the ragged khakis to the floor. Why he felt so bashful, he couldn't say. All day long he hung out with nude stiffs. What difference did it make if the corpse was breathing? At least his new companion couldn't see the slight pinkness in his cheeks. He considered attempting to bathe the man, but ultimately decided that perhaps submerging him in water again so soon might be a bit of a shock to the system. He could put up with the smell for one night. 

Clean boxers, a set of flannel pajamas, and the coziest sweater he could find in his closet helped soothe Oswald enough to allow Ed to splint the ankle with a pillow and some scraps from his sewing basket. He got it fastened with little more than a few soft gasps, then rose to his feet once more. 

“Whoever put you in that river really wanted you there, huh? I suppose doing that was a little less labor intensive than concrete shoes, but terribly barbaric, don't you think?” No answer. Moving on. “Are you hungry?”

Oswald seemed to understand that. He grunted and put his fingers in his mouth, gnawing on them as his sightless eyes bounced around in his head. 

“I'll take that as a yes. You stay here and I'll get you something to eat,” he said warmly, stroking the man’s unruly black hair as if he were trying to coax a cat into the bath. Oswald leaned into the touch, even emitting a low hum when Ed scratched his scalp. 

_Subject can be soothed with gentle ministrations_

\--

After nearly an hour of trial and error, Ed hadn't been able to get a single bite into his test subject that hadn't been immediately spit back out. Fruit, meat, and even plain toast had all been briefly nibbled on, then discarded. There had been some brief interest in a carton of leftover Chinese takeout, but no such luck came when he regurgitated it onto the floor. Water, coffee, tea, and fruit juice all met the same fate. 

_Subject appears to have lost all taste for food...or is extremely picky_

Well, he couldn't just let the man starve. After so rudely thrusting him back into the land of the living, the least he could do was feed him. And he was so obviously starving; he still uttered cries of hunger, but the look on his face after sampling each food was one of disgust. 

Returning to his cabinets once more, Ed found the one thing left in the kitchen he hadn't yet tried: canned tuna. Ed had no taste for it himself--far too pungent from afar to even dream of placing in his mouth--but on occasion he would place a can on the roof outside to treat the cats that occasionally made their way there. A single can sat before him, a little dusty but not yet past its expiration date. He'd been avoiding it the whole time, reluctant to subject himself to the smell, but at this point he was desperate. 

“You can't even imagine the favor I'm doing you right now.” Holding the can as far from himself as he could while still handling the can opener, he popped it open and stirred the contents with a spoon. Immediately, the man opposite him perked up. 

_Subject reacts strongly to olfactory stimuli_

Watching intently, he passed the spoon first, which the curious little man took with shaking, uncertain fingers, then wrapped Oswald’s fingers around the bottom of the can. It took a few attempts, but with a little guidance he was able to raise the spoon to his lips and take a bite. He even swallowed. 

_Subject has retained enough motor skills to feed self, though with some difficulty_

Ed was positively beaming. _Finally!_ It wasn't his first choice for a solution, but to get the man to keep anything at all down was--

Once again, Oswald gagged and spit on the floor. Tears and a new round of whimpering came around as he swiped at his face with the oversized sleeve of the sweater he was bundled in.

“Now, now. Don't cry. We’ll find you something to eat. Just give that back to me, and we’ll keep trying.” Ed reached out to take the can, but at the last second Oswald jerked away, causing the lid to slice through the pad of Ed’s thumb. Blood bubbled up through the cut instantly, sliding down the length of his thumb and into his palm. 

“G _od_ da--Ow!” Ed yelped, pulling his hand back. He was just about to reach for a tissue on the bedside table when something caught his eye. 

For the first time since waking up on the slab, Oswald’s eyes were focused. And they were _hungry._


	4. Feed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _This is not a horse race where winners beat the time_   
>  _This is not a funeral with mourners in a line_   
>  _This is not a sitcom where everything's alright_   
>  _This is not a prison with terror through the night_   
> 

_Subject has a voracious appetite for human blood_

“This is what happens when you play God, Edward!” Ed scolded himself as he scrubbed his hands in the kitchen sink, glancing over his shoulder every now and then to ensure his guest hadn't escaped his bonds. Oswald was temporarily tethered to the bed frame with a daisy chain of belts hastily buckled together, licking his lips and any stray droplets of blood he could find on his fingers and looking deeply satisfied with himself. The way he cleaned each digit with his lips and tongue might have looked lewd had Ed been a more lecherous individual.

The cut on his thumb was the least of his injuries after Oswald had pounced. Scratches left behind by desperate, clawing fingers ran the length of his forearm, and a perfect crescent of teeth marks now decorated each side of his left hand. He'd have to wrap the whole thing and come up with some excuse for the bandage at work. ‘Oh, so sorry, Dr. Thompkins but I can't do that exam today because my reanimated guinea pig patient tried to maul me.’ That would sure go over great.

“Stupid, stupid…” he muttered as he pulled a first aid kit out from under the sink and carried it to his modest dining table. As he blotted the wound with iodine and began winding a bandage around his hand, all the bridges he swore he’d cross when he got to them were suddenly stretched out before him. How, he asked himself, could he have been so foolishly optimistic? He should have been preparing for the worst from the start. Vanity had clouded his vision, making him assume that _of course_ it would have gone perfectly, that he could reverse death back to the instant before it occurred without any hiccups. What a fool he'd been. A posturing idiot laughing in the face of a force infinitely more clever and powerful than his own mortal self. 

Ed felt nauseous. The regret that had started as a trickle was now a deluge, filling him up as he stared down the pitiful figure on his bed. His thoughts flashed to the helium tank hidden in his closet. This could all be over quickly. There would be no pain, no struggle, just a few minutes and he would be free of this abomination. All of his research, every last note--it would have to be burned, lost forever. What he had, what he’d _done_ , had no place in this world, not even in a city like Gotham. 

Turning his gaze to the closet door, he could see the red tank peeking out from the very back. All it would take was a few minutes with the exit bag over the poor man’s head until he finally slipped away again for good. It was a method he thought to be humane, as well as nearly undetectable in an autopsy. All this time he’d only been worrying about the mess of disposing of a body, selfishly considering only the burden that death brought him. He felt terribly foolish right then as he realized how self-centered he’d been in his actions leading up to this moment. This wasn't about his comfort or convenience. This was about putting the power of wielding life and death in each hand back where it belonged: in the hands of the universe, chaotic and cruel and universally unfair. 

What had seemed so ethical and humane while he was doing his research, long before this had been little more than notes scribbled on napkins, now appeared barbaric to him. The panic of suffocation wouldn't be there, no, but was it crueller to kill a man who didn't know he was dying? What did it matter? He was already a monster for doing this to the poor man in his bed. What was one more monstrous act?

\--

Tears pricked at Ed’s eyes as he dragged the tank out into the open with one hand and carried an oven bag with the other. All those long nights gone to waste, all those resources lost, and now this poor, clueless bastard was going to have to die twice in the same evening. No matter how cruel it felt in the moment, he reminded himself, it was a far better fate for his subject than to keep on living like this. To release him into the city would be unthinkable. If he didn't die of starvation or exposure, he would undoubtedly be murdered on the streets or shot by the police, or fall victim any number of horrible things that went on after dark. 

“My deepest apologies,” he said as he sat on the bed beside his guest, “I didn't mean for it to be this way. This is all my fault...I'm sorry.” 

With trembling fingers, Ed reached out to gently stroke the man’s cheek. He was so very, very cold. He leaned into the touch, eyes falling shut as he was lulled by the warmth. One could hardly believe he was capable of the number he’d done on Ed’s arm only minutes before. They stayed like that for a moment, Oswald gently nuzzling Ed’s palm, happy just for the sensation of touch, and Ed watching with his fist clenched around the neck of the exit bag. 

“This isn't because you hurt me,” he soothed. “I'm not punishing you. I wanted...I wanted to help you. I thought I could give you your life back, but it wasn't mine to give.” Tears that had been eagerly waiting to fall trickled from the corners of his eyes. “This is for the best. I just hope that if there is an afterlife, you won't spend it hating me for doing this to you.” 

Eyes shut tight, Ed draped the bag over the man’s head and pulled the drawstring tight around his neck. The subject gave a confused grunt and tugged at the corner of the bag, but with only limited use of his hands could not budge it. His icy eyes widened, darting helplessly. He began to hyperventilate, crying out with surprise when the plastic flew into his mouth. The panic in his eyes was unmistakable. This wasn't going to be quick and quiet. Disoriented and afraid, he began to writhe against his bonds, trying desperately to get away from whatever unseen tormentor was trying to hurt him. 

It had to be done. It had to be done. It _had_ to be done. 

But he couldn't.

Yanking the cord loose again, Ed tore the bag away and threw it aside before throwing his arms around the poor man’s neck and sobbing into his hair. 

“I'm so sorry!” he wailed, holding him fiercely. He felt like a child, small and frightened, but not nearly as terrified and confused as Oswald must have been. All he could do for a long while was cry, stroking the man beneath him as he choked out stuttering sobs. He couldn't take a life, not like this. For all he knew, this was an innocent man who’d met an unfortunate and abrupt end. Whoever he was, whatever he’d done, it didn't matter. He was vulnerable now, and Ed had to take responsibility for it. 

“I'll feed you, I promise.” His voice trembled, barely a whisper. “I'll find a way. I'll take care of you.” He pulled back to look at Oswald, wearing a shaky grin. He had no other choice. They were bound together until...until they weren't, he supposed. The long term effects of the serum were still a mystery. He might get better, or perhaps he might simply...expire. Ed had to laugh at himself. How could he cut his experiment so short? It would be a disservice to himself and to science not to see it through, to throw away all his research and the invaluable notes he would collect along the way. 

Still panting from the terror of once again being thrust onto the knife’s edge between life and death, Oswald allowed himself to be held, revelling in the heat radiating off the man’s body. Stretching his fingers as far as they could reach, he grasped a handful of Ed’s shirt and tugged, whimpering softly. 

“You poor thing,” Ed said with a sniffle, wiping his eyes on his wrist. “You must be starving by now.” He glanced at his wounded hand. The cut was still dribbling, staining the bandage he'd wrapped around his thumb at the table. If it was what Oswald wanted, who was he to deny him? With a wince he tore the bandage off and squeezed his thumb, encouraging new blood flow. 

Oswald sniffed the air. Though not as frenzied as before, the hunger in his eyes was just as pronounced. 

“You have to be gentle, ok?” Cautiously, Ed held Oswald’s jaw and let his thumb hover over the smaller man’s lips. 

That, thankfully, he seemed to understand. He took the digit into his mouth with all the tenderness of a baby at a breast, licking at the open wound and groaning gratefully. It was a haunting sound, hardly human, but Ed knew it meant he was doing something right. They sat there, Ed still leaking tears, and shared in the quiet broken only by the soft sucking sounds of Oswald feeding. 

If this was going to be it, then Ed had some planning to do.


	5. Guilt and Coffee

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Went up to a pay phone on a bathroom wall,_   
>  _but I can't remember who I wanted to call,_   
>  _Operator, can you help me?_

“Yes, thank you. I'm sure I'll be right as rain soon enough.” Ed coughed for effect. “I'll see you then.”

It was the first day in years that he’d called in sick. He’d stacked plenty of paid sick leave, and now was the time to cash it in. Until he could be sure that the beastly thing now resting in his bed could be left to his own devices, he needed to be around to observe him. He hadn't gotten a wink of sleep the entire night. Even after the subject had finished feeding and drifted off into a fitful, twitching slumber, Ed stayed awake, pacing back and forth across the apartment. Once, in a state of mixed fear and hope when his subject had gone awfully still, he’d even held a spoon over the man’s parted lips to ensure that he still drew breath. 

_Subject is extremely exhausted following reanimation. Movements suggest the subject appears to dream_

Another cup of coffee, another splash of water on his face, another bout of tears behind the bathroom door. Blood. He needed to find blood. The feeding they'd done had satiated the subject enough to lull him to sleep, but how long before he was hungry again? Small bleedings would have to suffice until Ed could find a reliable source. Little cuts here and there. He was a fast healer. All he could hope was that a lust for blood wouldn't extend to flesh during a feeding. 

Flipping open a notebook, Ed sat down at the table with his coffee and started to brainstorm. Anything could be had in Gotham for the right price, he told himself. Finding a blood bank staffed by morally flexible phlebotomists couldn't be that hard. Perhaps with some clever budgeting he could put together a bribe and walk out with a cooler full of pilfered donations. But how would one even approach that idea? _’Yes, hi, here's five hundred dollars, I’d like all the blood you can carry. It's for science.’_ He put a pin in the idea and moved on.

As he scribbled down notes, he found himself stealing glances at the lithe figure curled up on the bed. He watched the gentle rise and fall of the man’s chest. It was incredible to think that such a seemingly peaceful creature had practically tried to maul him not twelve hours earlier. He’d have to figure something out to mend the man’s temperament. Perhaps they'd start with behavioral training, and if that failed move to experimenting with medication. Another trip to the evidence locker might procure him a fair supply of benzodiazepines. 

Whether it was the sleep deprivation or the blood loss making him dizzy, he couldn't tell, but he knew he needed to keep himself moving if he wanted to stay awake and alert. 

\---

“Sir? Excuse me, sir?”

Ed stood by the bed with a concerned look on his face as he tried to shake his guest awake. He placed a plate holding a raw steak wrapped in butcher paper on the bedside table and cautiously reached with his unwounded hand to shake the man’s shoulder. 

Oswald gave an irritated whine and shrunk away from Ed’s hand. He’d slept nearly ten hours already and showed no interest in rising just yet. Coming back to life after a slow and painful death must have been awfully tiring. 

Too timid to push any further, Ed stepped back and began gathering up his keys and wallet. 

“Uh, okay then. I have to go out.” No reaction. “I left some meat here for you, if you want to try solid food again. You can suck the blood from it if you'd like.” Nothing. “I'll be back in an hour then.”

He double checked, triple checked the restraints tethering Oswald to the bed frame, then turned to pull on his coat. Once more, he tugged the restraints to make absolutely certain they held, then rushed out. 

\--

“He looks like he takes a small…” Ed murmured to himself as he browsed the racks of the thrift shop. He maneuvered a cart through the aisles, keeping his head down all the while. Even with all his accumulated vacation time, getting caught playing hooky would be mortifying. Since kindergarten he’d always prided himself on his perfect attendance, even with his academic struggles. No matter how sick or anxious he was, his father always ensured he was on the bus. Even in college, with his first taste of freedom, the lurking anxiety kept him in line. 

His pajamas would do for now, but if things were going to keep getting messy he was going to have to find the man his own wardrobe to ruin. Flannel shirts, t-shirts, and a pile of old towels filled the cart. He'd considered sweatpants, but something about the way the man was dressed when he’d found him told Ed that he’d be insulted. A pair of linen pajama pants with a drawstring waist seemed like a fair middle ground. 

Shoes. He was going to need shoes. Slippers? Something that couldn't be weaponized. Socks, too. Underwear. The list grew longer every time he thought he’d finished it. Wearily, he pushed on, tossing more items into his cart as he found them. The piped in pop music on the overhead stereo was the only thing keeping him from slumping over right there. The dull buzzing in his head was beginning to manifest as a headache, and knowing that he wouldn't be able to sleep it off the moment he got home just seemed to aggravate it. 

It occurred to him as he stared down a wall of chipped resin tchotchkes and dusty glassware that he would eventually have to bathe the man. Given the current state of affairs he couldn't very well just drop him in the bath and leave him alone with his privacy. The poor thing might drown, or have a violent flashback. Perhaps a sponge bath would suffice to ease him in, or just a once-over with a wet wipe. It was a duty Ed was prepared to take on, but that didn't make him any less uneasy about it. He handled naked bodies all day long at work, what was it about a pulse that made handling this one so intimidating? The thought of running his fingers over living, naked flesh, especially a man’s, stirred something inside him. Not disgust, as he’d perhaps hoped. _Lust._

Turn it off, turn it off. Tamp it down and move on. Whiteknuckling the cart, he moved on. 

\--

“And the television set in the window, please,” Ed asked meekly as he counted out bills at the checkout counter. 

It had caught his eye several times while he circled the store. The bubble screen and teal finish were hard not to stare at. He’d never owned a TV, not even as a child. The idiot-sitter, as his father called it. He'd always been told it would rot his brain, that it was nothing more than a fad and a distraction. His reasons for buying it were somewhat selfish; although he told himself it was for the subject, the radio would have sufficed with the man’s current impairments, so it was partly for his own entertainment. He’d just never had an excuse to indulge in it until now. Perhaps it would give him something to talk about at the water cooler. Something a little more...acceptable, than his usual chatter. Nobody at the GCPD ever seemed to want to chat for long when he was around. 

Carrying it all out to the car, he felt an odd sense of relief settling over him. He was making great time, and feeling even the slightest bit more prepared to care for his peculiar new roommate seemed to cut down on his stress even more than he’d anticipated. Something told him, as he placed the TV in the back seat and buckled it in, that today would be much easier than the night before. 

\--

"Move!! Please!!"Ed pleaded as he pumped the brakes through stop and go traffic. It wasn't in his nature to act so frantically, but the hour he'd promised he'd be gone was very quickly turning into two with this traffic jam. Every minute he was stuck in this mess was another opportunity for something to go terribly wrong at home. A horror show of the every possible thing that could happen flashed through his head. Ice ran in his veins as he envisioned throwing open the door to the apartment to find the man gone, disappeared to who knows where in the middle of a mercilessly cruel urban landscape. 

_‘This whole trip was nothing but a selfish distraction’,_ he scolded himself as the cars ahead once again slowed to a stop. _'Idiot. Selfish. You just wanted to get away from him. You couldn't stand to look at him.’_

“Please!” His voice cracked. Slamming on the horn did nothing to move traffic, but it was a temporarily satisfying outlet for his frustration. 

_stupid stupid STUPID_

\--

The sprint from the street to his door was a blur. He’d grabbed whatever bags he could reach and taken off like a bat out of hell, climbing the stairs with such speed it was almost a miracle that he didn't fall and break anything. Hands shaking, he jammed the key in the lock and threw the door open. When it slammed behind him, he turned to the bed, expecting the worst, only to find his subject still tangled up in a quilt. 

“Oh, thank goodness,” Ed panted. He dropped the shopping bags at his sides and collapsed against the door. “Thank god.”

Roused by the commotion, Oswald sat up, yawning as he stretched as far as the restraints would allow. He rubbed his eyes and sniffed the air. Something seemed to excite him, as he immediately sat up and turned his head this way and that, like an animal searching for a nearby threat. His ears twitched. 

_Subject displays heightened senses in the absence of vision_

“I brought you some clothes,” Ed panted. He couldn't remember the last time he'd moved faster than a brisk walking pace. With his lungs screaming at him to rest, he held one bag aloft before letting it tumble to the floor again. “Some...Some socks. Underwear. Yours were so...so dirty. I'm sorry. I had to throw them away.” 

He felt delirious. Spots were popping in front of his very eyes. Christ, he needed some rest. No sleep until he could be certain that the subject was safe. Rising to his feet, he blearily stumbled to the bedside and sat down. 

“No interest, huh?” The steak was still on the bedside table, entirely untouched. “I suppose you still want breakfast, though.”

Oswald leaned toward him, sniffing cautiously. Whatever scent he caught appeared to please him, as he instantly began to scoot closer to Ed. He looked even more ghoulish by the light of day, with his ghastly pallor and that stringy black hair clinging to his forehead. Lon Chaney would have been impressed. 

“I'll give it to you, you just have to be gentle. _Gen-tle_. Understand?” Shockingly, he got a little nod. The previous night he’d clearly understood the words, but now he was actually responding. 

_Subject is currently incapable of coherent speech but can respond nonverbally_

A little nick on his middle finger with a letter opener got a fat bubble of blood to blossom forth. 

“Easy,” he cautioned as Oswald latched on with an enthusiastic slurp. He kicked off his shoes and allowed himself to lie on his side while the little man fed. No reason to waste energy that he already had so little of. A little bodily rest would do him some good. Just a few minutes, a little break to regroup while the subject was distracted. No harm in getting a little rest..

He was out the moment his head touched the pillow.


	6. Clean Up

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Sleep tight in your bed_   
>  _Remember what the wise men said_   
>  _There's nothing to fear but fear itself_

When the wound had clotted and the blood stopped in its flow, Oswald had once again been lulled into a twilight state, drifting between waking and dreaming for what must have been mere hours but felt like days. In his waking moments, he could hear the soft noises of his host sleeping beside him, every now and then mumbling something to no one in particular. It was about time that he slept. The man’s incessant pacing had woken him up all through the night. 

The insistent urging of his bladder was what finally convinced him to open his eyes completely. Still blind from the effects of reanimation, he could make out nothing but vague blobs of shadow, along with the curious presence of a throbbing green light that tinged his mottled vision. The late autumn sun had just disappeared behind the horizon, leaving only the stars and the neon eyes of the city to light up the night. Had he really slept the whole day away? He must have, and yet the only thing that could drag him from slumber was the pestering call of an unfortunate biological function. 

When he tried to rise, the improvised shackles around his wrists reminded him that he was trapped. Pulling on them proved fruitless; all his tugging did was pull the belts tighter and rub his wrists raw. Panic started to set in. 

“Nnh!” he grunted, clawing at the leather straps and buckles that bound him. Even a child could have figured out how to escape them, but robbed of his sight and wits and overcome with rising panic, he was hopelessly stuck. His pathetic whimpering did nothing to rouse the sleeping man beside him. His host was out like a light, lost in a deep sleep. It didn't occur to Oswald to just kick him. He pulled and jerked at his bonds until his wrists threatened to bleed, rubbed red and raw by the punishing leather. Tears pricked at his eyes. 

The sudden, shameful warmth of his bladder relieving itself stopped his struggling. Paralyzed and unable to stop himself, he screwed his eyes shut again and tried to restrain the sobs that rattled behind his teeth. Even though just barely sentient, the pain and embarrassment of doing something so filthy was still so very familiar. Feelings that had been buried since childhood were clawing their way to the surface, gagging him with the heinous lump that he knew meant tears. 

What was the point of holding it in? He was a beast, and he needed to howl. He thrashed in his bonds, flailing helplessly in the darkness against the pain. Over and over again, he pulled and twisted, when suddenly something just snapped. 

The middle belt that had linked his shackles, rubbed thin by the rough finish of the pipes that made up the headboard, had finally given up the ghost and severed. His hands were free! Finally free! He bolted upright and scrambled to his feet, nearly crumpling when his injured leg was suddenly made to bear weight. The pain barely registered as he reveled in his freedom. 

The pillow splint was pulled off as soon as his fingers could grasp the knots holding it on. To his poor, addled brain, it was just another restraint made to hobble him. He didn't think to remove his pajamas, unbothered by the dampness that made them cling to his thighs. As long as he could move, he didn't care. 

A gurgle from his stomach startled him. It would seem that what little sustenance he'd suckled from Edward’s fingers earlier couldn't satiate him for long. Before long he’d need to find another source of food. He considered, briefly, gnawing on his host, but decided against it. If he devoured the only one around to be his eyes he'd be shit out of luck, so for the time being he'd keep the bleeding to consensual feedings. He’d simply have to look elsewhere.

A soft rustling from the window drew his attention. There was something out there. Something alive. Something that would bleed. 

\--

When Ed finally awoke and saw that his alarm clock read just after six, he mistook the darkness for a bashful dawn not yet illuminated by the early morning sun. He must have just been waking up for work, he rationalized, and forgotten to set his alarm. Yawning, he turned on a nearby lamp. 

_Oh, thank goodness. It was a dream. Only a dream._

When he rolled over and saw the empty shackles on the pillow beside him and smelled the stale stench of cold urine, it became very clear that this was _not_ , in fact, a dream. 

_The subject was gone the subject was GONE_

Instantly, he was on his feet, reeling from the sudden head rush. His head spun and his legs threatened to go out from under him. Panic unlike any other he’d felt before shot through him as he clawed through the sheets for his glasses. 

_Stupid irresponsible IDIOT how COULD HE he should be KILLED for this_

When he crammed his spectacles onto his face and his eyes finally focused, he could just make out the hunched silhouette of his little guest across the room. The subject was crouched near an open window, shoulders hunched as he tore into something obscured from view. Little red rivers trickled between his fingers, following the channels of his knuckles and the pronounced blue veins that decorated the backs of his hands. Blood. He was eating something. 

_If the subject cannot find a sufficient source of human blood, animal blood will suffice_

“What do you have?” Ed asked, trying to mask the fear in his voice. Oswald either didn't hear him or simply didn't care as he continued to dig into whatever morsel he'd managed to catch. 

Cautiously so as not to spook him, Ed tiptoed closer. Every time the subject paused in his feeding, Ed stopped. When he was finally close enough to see what the little hunter had caught, he nearly gagged. 

Oh god _oh god_ a _pigeon_ he's eating raw _vermin_

“You drop that right now!” It startled Ed to hear his father’s authoritative tone come through in his own trembling voice. Effective, however, as the bird tumbled to the floor. The subject cowered immediately, throwing his arms over his head. His host was mad that he’d eaten without him! Crossing the room in a few long strides, Ed stooped to pick up the ruined creature between two fingers. 

“Bad!” Ed scolded as he gingerly flung the bird’s carcass out the window. He turned back to the pitiful creature mewling on the floor and shook his head. “That could be full of diseases. Until we know how your immune system functions, you're only to drink clean blood. Ok? Just mine, until we can find you a clean resource.”

When Oswald still wouldn't budge from his protective position, Ed crouched and cautiously reached out to touch his knee. He rubbed gently and dropped his voice to what he hoped was a more soothing tone. 

“Hey,” he whispered. “Hey. I'm sorry. I didn't have to yell. I was just scared. I was afraid you might make yourself sick. You were just hungry.”

Oswald whimpered, but didn't shrink away. Ed took up his wrists and unbuckled the restraints that still hung from them. He cringed at the raw skin underneath. This poor pitiful creature had been so desperate, and he'd so selfishly slept through the whole ordeal. 

“You're my responsibility now, and I'm going to take good care of you. Ok? I won't hurt you. I just want to make sure you're safe while we figure out how to make you better, and that means I can't let you eat dirty food.” He looked down at the stain on the front of his subject’s pants. “How about a bath? You must be so uncomfortable in those dirty clothes. I’m so sorry. I should have been awake to help you.”

The subject definitely recognized “bath”. Unfurling his limbs, he nodded and extended a hand in Ed’s general direction, groping for purchase. He allowed the subject to cling to his shirt as he started the delicate process of undressing him. 

The lack of a struggle as Ed helped his test subject out of his soiled pajamas was surprising, but certainly welcome. The behaviors that he’d retained after reanimation seemed entirely random, but he wouldn't question anything that made his life easier. Murmured gentle words of encouragement, he gingerly peeled off each layer with the aid of latex gloves and tossed them into a laundry bag to be taken care of later. The bedding would have to be stripped as well, and the mattress sprinkled with baking soda. 

“Thank you for not running away,” he said flatly as he wrapped Oswald in a towel fetched from the closet and helped him limp to the bathroom . “I...I really couldn't deal with that. Thanks for not...falling out the window, or something. Saves me the trouble of scraping you up a second time. I don't know if the formula would work twice.” He tried to smile. Was that a joke? Maybe. 

\--

He hoped a fluffy bath towel laid across the bottom of the tub would be sufficient in keeping the subject from being startled by the cold porcelain. Wrestling a dirty, frightened ghoul in the bath was not something he was prepared to handle. One leg at a time, he helped him over the rim and eased him down onto the towel. A hand towel was draped over his groin for modesty and tucked in under his thighs. They'd start with a rinse, and if the water didn't startle him into some kind of flashback, as Ed feared it might, he might be persuaded to fill up the tub. 

“I don't think you're ready for a bath just yet, so we’re just going to try the shower head. Ok?” No answer but a blank stare. “Ok then.”

Careful to keep the stream pointed at the drain while the water heated up, Ed kept one hand on the subject’s back. Gentle strokes seemed to keep him sufficiently soothed, enough that when Ed first introduced the lukewarm water to his skin he didn't cry out, but rather gave a satisfied grunt. 

“Does that feel good, sir?” Ed asked with a smile as Oswald pulled the shower head closer, letting the warm water wash over him. He practically purred as it cascaded over his chest. 

“Mmnnhhh.” Oswald lolled his head against his shoulder while he was rinsed, hugging himself with slender arms. He even giggled when the warm stream passed over his thighs. 

“Good boy,” Ed soothed. “You really like that, huh?” Watching his subject express comfort and joy instead of the gamut of fear, panic, and hunger that he'd suffered through in the last day quieted his own anxieties about nudity. It was kind of relaxing, just kneeling there, washing away all the filth to make Oswald as comfortable as possible. He deserved it after being trapped in his own filth like that for God only knows how long. He had to remind himself that this wasn't sexual, just a routine duty of caring for this wretched little thing that he would have to come to terms with.

At least, it wasn't until he noticed that Oswald’s hand had disappeared under the hand towel laid across his lap. It appeared that he'd become just a little too comfortable there, and the happy sounds he was making weren't just from enjoying a hot rinse. Too startled to put a sentence together, Ed dropped the shower head and staggered to his feet. 

“No!” he yelped, his voice cracking. He bit his tongue to stifle himself from shouting. “Not in here, please!”

Oswald only glanced up quizzically, wondering where the hot water had gone. 

“Don't, um…no. Please. Thank you.” Ed clasped his hands and tried to grin. “I can give you some privacy later.”

The rest of the bath was carried out in silence. Oswald kept his hands tucked under his armpits, and Ed elected to ignore the small bulge under the modesty towel. When he felt that all the filth had been sufficiently washed away and Oswald’s matted hair had been shampooed and rinsed, he turned off the faucet and draped a fresh towel around his subject’s shoulders and helped him out of the tub and over to the toilet. 

“No offense, but I don't really trust your aim right now, so if you'd be so kind to go sitting down I’d appreciate it.” He sat him down and stepped out of the bathroom, then poked his head back in. “I'll be out here. Just come out when you're ready.”

\--

Ed busied himself with stripping the bed and laying down some baking soda while Oswald relieved himself. His face burned, and he felt awfully silly getting so flustered by a little innocent fondling. And who was he to assume that's what was happening, anyway? He tried to laugh at himself, at how squeamish he still was at nearly thirty, but it only felt hollow. 

His guest had retained some familiarity with toilets, as he heard a flush from the other room as he tied off the laundry bag and dumped it by the front door to be handled later. Oswald appeared in the doorway to the bathroom, wrapped like a baby bat in his towel looking cold and nervous. Ed’s nerves melted once more into a sort of maternal worry. 

“Let's get you dressed, hmm? You must be so cold.” 

The subject’s low body temperature gave him a fondness for sweaters, and Ed made sure to pull a cozy selection from the bags of thrift store clothing he’d brought home hours earlier. With minimal struggle and only a few awkward glances as Ed helped him into clean briefs and pajama pants, they got him dressed and situated on the sofa. 

Ed stared at the peculiar little man beside him. What was he to do with him? Unless he was suddenly going to keel over at midnight, he had a feeling that this was going to be quite the long experiment. Sighing, he took up a notepad from the coffee table and began scribbling new notes.

 _Subject is in need of constant care, though maintains limited independence_

He sighed and squeezed the bridge of his nose. 

_Find food source ASAP_


	7. REM

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _And I can't see now in front of my nose_  
>  _And I know you're there and I know you're close_  
>  _And you're fading away—now you disappear_  
>  _And I try to focus, but I can't see clear_  
>   
>   
>   
>  ((hey guys! I'm back!))

The weekend crawled by with little progress. A few pulled strings and promises of working overtime when he returned bought him a few extra days off on short notice. In the days since Ed had accepted his fate as caretaker to his beastly little house guest, he’d managed to teach the subject where the bathroom was and how to ask for it, and to sit still in the tub without touching himself but little else had stuck. He wasn't sure if it was willful disobedience or some sort of petty revenge for leaving Oswald alone in his filth the first day. 

Feedings were still difficult. He'd put in every effort to find substitutes for fresh blood, but so far it was the only thing Oswald would eat without any fuss. There had been some interest in blood squeezed from a raw steak, but the subject sniffed at the cold, coagulating fluids presented to him. He only took a few cautious sips after Ed warmed it in the microwave, and even then he wrinkled his nose at the taste. The actual flesh didn't get so much as a nibble. Ed squeamishly noted how hungry and alert Os looked when pigeons stirred outside the window. 

_Subject vastly prefers fresh blood to readily available alternatives_

The only food he would take without complaint was blood suckled from Ed’s fingertips, delivered three times a day. He got his morning meal at precisely nine, his lunch at three, and finally one last serving before bed at nine in the evening, occasionally supplemented by Oswald sucking on his fingers in the night to reopen the wounds and claim a snack for himself. Aside from his midnight snack times, the subject was sleeping through the night without issue. Ed, meanwhile, could only count the hours he'd slept since reanimation on two hands. Quite literally, since the lack of sleep and all the energy it took to observe and care for this strange creature had taken a toll on his mental faculties. 

Letting Oswald out of his sight for even a moment was nerve wracking. Visions of any number of household disasters, drilled into his head by his neurotic mother, flashed through his mind every time he turned his back. He could slip and fall in the bathroom and break his neck, or stick his fingers in a socket, or he could--no, no. Playing worst case scenario would lead to nothing but more blind panic.

For all the worrying it brought him, observing his subject had its upsides. It was a little funny, seeing what the human brain clung to even after death. Food, sleep, and pleasure seemed to be the subject’s only objectives. Relearning self reliance ranked low on his list of priorities when there was somebody so guilt ridden as to fulfill his every need, and was already becoming a little manipulator even with his limited clarity. 

\--

Life after death had been considerably more comfortable than Oswald had previously anticipated. The blindness and the profound hunger that gnawed at him even when he'd been fed were inconvenient, but having somebody basically waiting on him hand and foot was certainly pleasant. Memories of his past life were vague, more like barely remembered dreams than lived events. The melancholy immediately following reanimation had worn off however, allowing him to feel a cozy indifference to the world around him as long as he was fed. Ed did everything for him, from dressing him in clean clothes every morning to wiping his mouth clean after every feeding. The man had even attempted to brush his teeth for him, but he still had yet to separate the feeling of fingers in his mouth with meal times. The resulting nip didn't draw blood, but it was enough for Ed to relent on dental hygiene, at least for the time being.

Despite the damage his memory had taken, there were several things he knew for certain. 1: he really liked being taken care of. That was certain. 2: he loved baths. Edward fulfilled both in spades.

It was apparent to the both of them that a more abundant food source was top priority. The hunger pangs always came far too soon, and with such intensity that he could sometimes only curl up and weep. He'd suckle at Ed’s fingertips until the wounds became swollen shut, and it would satisfy him, but within a few hours the hunger would come creeping back. Warm water stirred with a few drops would keep his stomach full, but it didn't satisfy in the least. 

\--

An idea had come to Ed on how to keep a readily available supply of blood, at least temporarily. It had seemed so obvious that he couldn't fathom why he hadn't thought of it immediately, though the severe lack of sleep could have been to blame for that. He just needed some supplies to get started. This time, he’d taken a few more accommodations into consideration when he left the subject alone in the apartment. Immediately after a feeding, he led the odd little man into the bathroom and wheeled the TV cart in after him. After helping the subject get his pants down and sitting him on the toilet, he turned his back and waited for him to relieve himself. He couldn't resist grinning with a little pride when the man even remembered to flush. Once the subject was dressed again and Ed had washed both their hands, he helped him into the bathtub, which he'd padded with layers of blankets and pillows and topped with a towel in case of any further accidents. 

“I have to run some errands. Now, this time I'm just going to leave you in here, alright? The television set will keep you company while I’m away. Now, do you understand?”

All he got was a blank stare and a whine. Oswald grasped at Ed’s sweater and tried to pull him into the tub. 

“I can't take you out. You're too sick to leave the apartment just yet!” Ed shook his head and bent down to plug in the television and tuned it to an educational program for children. “Perhaps this will help with some of your cognitive skills. A little return to the fundamentals.” Even the alphabet song being mouthed by puppets on the little bubble screen seemed a little out of the subject’s grasp just yet. With a gentle squeeze of his hand, he pulled a blanket over Oswald’s tiny frame and tucked the edges in around him. 

“Be good. I'm going to make sure you get a proper dinner tonight.”

\-- 

After he'd tired himself out whimpering and squirming, Oswald had finally relaxed into his makeshift bed. The pillows were comfy, and the layers upon layers of blankets in the tub made it almost cozy. What might have felt claustrophobic to most had become comfortably womb-like to Oswald. He spent the better part of his time alone curled up on his side, snuggling a down pillow while running his fingers over the cool porcelain of the tub wall. This was a safe place, he could tell. There were no terrifying smells or sounds in here, just the comforting confinement of a familiar favorite place and the babble of the television. 

A little alone time was fine when it was being done like this. 

He dozed in his nest, slipping in and out of dreams. His brain struggled to weave vivid images, but the emotions it managed to stir up felt very real. Pangs of terror followed by soothing waves of comfort crawled through his head in trudging cycles as his subconscious began the lengthy process of knitting itself back together. Blurry recollections of his former life flickered and pulsed, mixing and breeding with the primordial memories of his new one. The softness and attentive care afforded to him by a figure on each side of death melded into one in his dream, quieting the fears that threaded his dreams and swaddling him in an intangible warmth. He slept easier. 

\--

Oswald was still asleep when Ed got home. Some rubber tubing from the hardware store, a needle shamefully collected from the local clinic’s exchange program, and a mason jar marked with liquid amounts made up his haul for the day. He tip toed to the bathroom, ensured that his guest was safe, then quietly began to prepare a workspace on the modest table in his kitchen. 

Home phlebotomy could hardly be considered sterile, but nonetheless he did his best to keep everything clean. He supposed that if the subject was willing to consume and successfully digest the fluids of a wild animal, then relatively clean and certainly healthy blood shouldn't be an issue. To prepare, the jar was steeped in boiling water and everything handled with latex gloves. He affixed the needle to a length of tubing and fed one end into the jar. He hadn't been squeamish about needles since childhood, when a battery of allergy tests and bloodwork had long since desensitized him to any fear of them. A knot around his bicep roused a hardy vein, and without much hesitation, he pricked himself and watched as his blood snaked through the rubber tubing to collect in the jar below. He flexed his fingers gently as he removed the tourniquet and let the blood flow. 

\--

Once the pint line had been reached, he took the needle from his arm, sealed the jar, and set about preparing a bandage. His temporary solution to their food crisis was crude but effective. An entire pint would sustain the subject for days, without the constant pricking and nicking of his fingers for every feeding. The dizziness and nausea would be worth the convenience. 

Satisfied with his work, he gathered up the jar and held it against his chest while he waited for the lightheadedness to pass. The subject would be so delighted. A good dinner for the man in the tub and peace of mind for himself. An enormous reward for an extremely minor sacrifice. A nagging voice in the back of his head reminded him that with the limitatins of bloodletting it would be only a temporary fix, but even a few days of relative peace would buy him time to think. 

When his head finally stopped spinning and his legs had regained their rigidity, he took a spoon from the drawer and walked to the bathroom with the jar still cradled in his arm. 

“Hello, sir?” he murmured as he cracked the door to the bathroom. A stringy cowlick of black hair emerged from the blanket pile in the tub. 

“Nnhhh?”

“Yes, hello,” Ed opened the door and stepped inside. “Glad you see you were able to get some rest while I was away.” He held up the jar. “I brought you something.”

Oswald’s nose emerged from the nest, sniffing at the air, followed shortly by his cloudy eyes and freckled cheeks. The figure from his dream came to mind as Ed knelt beside the tub. That same feeling of affectionate care radiated from the man beside him, just as it had from the benevolent thing his subconscious had pieced together. This was a safe place, and he was a safe man. 

“Are you hungry?” The expression he received gave him his answer: _always_.


End file.
